


Incalescence

by oceansinmychest



Series: Torridity [1]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Continuation, F/F, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 02, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 05:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14489565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: (adj.) a growing warmth; ardent





	Incalescence

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to write a sequel for "Torridity" upon my girl's insistence. ;) This one's dedicated to my sweet girl. Thanks for being a muse, baby.
> 
> Here's the original: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13639782

> “Passion and slaughter, ruth, decay,  
> Descend, minutely whispering down,  
> Silted down, swaying streams, to lay  
> Foundation of our voicelessness.”
> 
> **Bearded Oaks** – Robert Penn Warren

A wolf feasts upon a lamb, but the lamb, too, has teeth. In a pledge of fealty, Vera clings to Joan’s sloped shoulders. Her touch meanders across the broad expanse of her pale back.

God burns up the world with a kiss. Vera feels the heat deep within her bones. There’s a slip of tongue, followed by the clash of teeth. Vera tastes herself. Like all things, it’s bittersweet.

Persephone demands more. The wine fuels her temporary courage. She has her rebirth through elicit, explicit fiction. Her leg hitches up and intrudes, wedging itself between her Hades’ parted thighs. With a pomegranate kiss, she craves more.

The gesture surprises Joan, the demand belongs to an insolent child.

“More,” Vera pleads, her tone shrill and insistent.

Her toned thigh hitches upward, pressing against her burning center. She wants to feel her, taste her, devour her from the inside out.

“Not yet,” Joan responds in a sacred murmur.

Her legs capture Vera’s wandering one. With her hand wrapping around Vera’s hair, Joan makes a symphony of her. She sings a cry so beautifully sweet.

Beneath them, the sheets form a tangled web. They say that a bed acts as a killing floor for marriages, for affairs, for the undefined. Vera struggles to name this.

“Everyone must want you,” Vera whispers.

Joan chuckles, vilified as the most hated woman alive.

Vera has much to learn.

A dragon treasures her hoard.  The fire rekindles in her coal black eyes. That hawkish stare possesses the capacity to scrutinize and study her. It unnerves Vera. The look on Joan’s face is one she hasn’t seen before: hunger.

Unable to resist temptation, her ashen face consumes Vera’s body that’s twisted in pleasure. She’s all muscle and quivering sinew. A nude memoir paints the crime in crimson.

“Ha.”

It fills the silence – the emptiness that her Deputy attempts to breach.

 On their sides, their unclothed bodies provide contrast. Joan finds it to be too much.

The hollow of her hand meets Vera’s throat. She savors the sensation of her swallowing, but there isn’t an inkling of fear, just uncertainty and unfamiliarity in a single gesture.

“Tell me what to do,” she warbles, her voice light and airy.

_Tell her what to swallow._

Passion continues under the guise of worship. She flips Vera over.

So this is what it feels like to be shepherded.

Her throat tightens like a tourniquet. Her cheek rubs against the pillow. Out of habit, she nibbles on her lips. The suspense of the impending act puts her on edge.

Fingers claw at the sheets. Belly to back, Joan presses her weight on top of her. Manicured nails rake across her fragile, foolish spine. The action elicits a whimper fused with a moan. At the response, Joan quirks a brow.

Their rocking movement mirrors waves lapping against the shore. Animalistic and yet reverent, a salacious litany takes precedence with only the body involved. Their monstrous yearnings are conjoined. With an impermanent moment of lust captured, their debauchery reaches new heights.

A bone white touch ghosts across her glistening slit.

Enticingly, Vera wags her bum. The merciless dictator delivers her blows. A derisive palm meets her ass in rapid succession. Once, twice, thrice. Each smack resonates. She’ll wear the red marks like a medal. 

_Interesting._

Lamentations orchestrate a silent cry.

“You want me to take you.”

Blunt observation benefits the course.

There’s an embarrassed nod. She yelps. Shame colors her cheeks scarlet, but _oh_ \- she can’t deny the ache between her legs.

Trembling sways her body. She moves like an olive branch.

“Please _, Guv’na_.” She’s surprised by the whine in her voice, the nasally inflection that accompanies her brazen need. “Make me come?”

Demand poses a question. Fingers breeze across her wetness.

“More?” Joan echoes the earlier conversation.

The heel of her palm scrapes the curve of Vera’s ass. She toys with her prey. Beats around the bush. Allows for her knuckle to pass along that scorching heat.

A whimper. Thighs quiver.

“Harder, faster.”

Revitalized, Vera begs for more. We all yearn for a little death. Like Lazarus, she’s changed. Joan sees it here first.

Something hungry has its feast.

The Governor obliges. Alternating from side to side, she smacks her again. Mercy comes in the form of a low, sensual rub. Up and down, her finger languidly trails along her slit.

Maybe the Devil’s her savior.

Sweetness is stolen from beneath the sheets. Gingerly, she feels her slip inside. Vera gasps, her noises muffled by the flat pillow which she kneads and squeezes. For dear mercy, she holds on while Joan fucks her slowly, confidently.

Her cunt’s the altar and her God pays tribute.

They tangle and writhe like serpents. Joan’s forearm moves with poise, her thumb pressing into that pleasurable bundle of nerves. She savors every cry, every mewl, every gasp.

It’s all music to her ears.

In and out, she thrusts. Teeth leave behind a gentle imprint – a brand on the juncture between shoulder and neck.

Devoid of composure, she unravels. Her release comes in waves. She throbs around her, a bundle of nerves now unwound.

With care, the Governor guides her disciple onto her back. There’s a glow about her, blinding and holy. Solemnly, Joan looks on. Desire gives her away by the flare of her nostrils and the heat that consumes her body.

“Have I earned that privilege?”

Again, Vera digs up skeletons. Few have had the luxury to sample the Devil.

Joan hesitates, hovering above a woman so desperate for touch. Her lips purse. Then, they slant. She shifts and rises like a phoenix from the ashes.

“Earn iT,” she rasps before lowering herself.

Teeth scrape the inside of her cheek, biting down. Reverent hands grasp ivory columns that form her thighs. Her most loyal continues worship with a few, eager strokes of her tongue.

It’s the lamb’s turn for a feast.


End file.
